Eight Days to Live by Iris Johansen

magnitude. Not his head on a platter? Since the moment I met you, I knew that it would take something extraordinary to impress you. Information is too easy.”
    “Not this time. I’ve had enough of decapitated—” She had to stop as memories flooded back to her. She had to steady her voice. “All I want is for you to find Ted Weismann so that I can question him. Will you do it?”
    He was silent a moment. “Decapitated . . . You picked up on that too soon. I wonder why? I think that perhaps there may be an opportunity in this to impress you after all.”
    “No, I don’t want you involved in anything but the search. I don’t want to be responsible. It’s ugly, Caleb.”
    “I’m used to ugly,” he said. “And I’m touched that you’re trying to protect me. And you won’t be responsible. If I want to do you a favor, then I’ll do it. It’s always my choice, Jane.”
    “I don’t want a favor,” Jane said. “Favors always have to be returned, and I’ve never been able to trust you not to have a hidden agenda.”
    “That’s because you’re so clever. Of course I do.”
    “Set a price, Caleb.”
    “I’ll think about it,” he said. “In the meantime, I think I should get to work and try to find this Weismann. What can you tell me about him that might help?”
    “Not much. He belonged to Sang Noir, a murder-for-hire group, but he’s now on the run. He was with their cell headquarters inRome until the past few days. He’s manipulative, money-hungry, and doesn’t give a damn who dies as long as he can squeeze enough cash out of Venable.”
    “Venable. CIA?”
    “You know him?”
    “No, I’ve heard of him. But our paths have never crossed. Over the years I’ve dealt with any number of intelligence agencies. They’re a rich source to tap for information. I would probably have gotten around to Venable eventually.” His tone was thoughtful. “Sang Noir. I did have an encounter with them several years ago. I was forced to remove one of their members. Well, not exactly forced, it was a pleasure.”
    “Then I’m surprised you’re not on their hit list.”
    “They had no idea I had anything to do with it. I made sure it looked like natural causes. Poor man had a brain hemorrhage.”
    She shivered. The casualness of his tone was chilling, but no more than the possibility that he could cause those hemorrhages. It shouldn’t have bothered her. Knowing what she did about the Sang Noir, she knew the man had probably deserved death.
    “Get over it, Jane,” Caleb said softly. “You came to me. Accept me for what I am.”
    “I do. Most of the time. Sometimes it’s harder than others.” She had to move on. “Where are you? How soon can I expect some word from you?”
    “I’m at my house in Switzerland. After I left Eve’s lake cottage, I had a desire to go to my villa on Lake Lucerne. In many ways it’s probably even more beautiful than your lake in Georgia.” He paused. “But it was the company, not the scenery that I found lacking. I missed sitting on that porch with you.”
    She had a sudden memory of Caleb sitting on the top step of those porch stairs. Dark, intense eyes gazing out at the water, highcheekbones, sensual, beautifully shaped lips, the faintest indentation in his chin. Though only in his late thirties, dark hair slightly threaded with gray at the temples, his body relaxed but still radiating strength and power. Everything about him had always been high-impact. That impact had stunned her when she had first met him and was affecting her right now even though she couldn’t see him. She repeated, “When will I hear from you?”
    “I’ll get to work right away. I’ll head for Rome and see what I can find out. I still know where to find a few of the members of the group. As I recall, there was nothing complicated about them. Neanderthals with high-powered weapons. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Where are you?”
    “I’m at the Bleinart Inn outside Paris, but I don’t know